


the cure for the human condition

by floreat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Blank Period, F/M, Introspection, Post-Chapter 699 (Naruto), Pre-Chapter 700 (Naruto)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25566883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floreat/pseuds/floreat
Summary: wanderlust, he thinks, isn’t embedded in his bones for reasons of being incapable of rooting himself to one spot, rather it’s been embedded in his bones by the persistent reminders of the voices inside of his head to remember.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	the cure for the human condition

there is something strangely calming about walking this path home; the remnants of summer are presented by an ensemble cast of hidden cicadas humming a harmonious melody that masks the sounds of yellowing and reddening leaves drifting through the air before gravity takes its toll and tugs it to the earth.

beside him, sakura seems to have stumbled upon the pitch set by the cicadas and she hums a companion piece. her eyes shut momentarily, a smile stretching across her features, and she extends her arms overhead. she expels a contented sigh as her joints crack to release hours of her lengthy workload in this single motion before her eyes gravitate to meet his. he resists the urge to bring his fingers up to poke at her forehead and drop a kiss at the same spot to secure the adoration he holds for her. 

as if she can hear his thoughts, a deeper crinkling sets in the corner of her eyes and she exhales a soft, shy laugh. she steps closer and nudges his side with her elbow; the scent of the antimicrobial soap used at the hospital and the peach of her shampoo permeates the air around him. “i like you like this,” she murmurs. “i told you it suits you.”

he cannot discern whether she’s speaking of the film of color from the setting sun that bathes them or of the peace that the end of the war has brought him. she doesn’t comment, but he thinks it may be all of the above.

in a different life, he would have pulled her close and whispered that there is nothing in this world that suits him better than her, that the light she exudes fills the holes that the pains of his past have created. in this life, he settles for teasingly pushing the flesh of his palm to her face and gently nudging her away, countering, “you like me anyway.” 

she swats at his hand, nose scrunching in not-quite disagreement, and hums a note that the cicadas compliment. “i heard it was sweltering hot today. did you manage to put aside some time from your busy schedule to water my plants?” though her eyes have shifted forward, he catches the goading undertones of her question. 

his eyes narrow, though he has found that perhaps house-husband is the best term to describe him. while her bones carry the weight of her principal role as the head of konoha general hospital, his bones carry the responsibility of household chores and, more recently, indulging his green thumb. 

it started with a few herbs some time after his return from his journey after the war. the counter space in the compact apartment sakura kept—really, only because it was near the hospital and a small strip of restaurants that had saved her more than she is comfortable with saying from suffering through her dismal cooking—had slowly become filled with them to help save them from her aforementioned dismal cooking and, after his interest was piqued by discovering his ability to provide thriving conditions for herbs, there was no stopping the rest of the produce that had eventually followed suit. one too many bouts of gnats floating throughout the already minuscule apartment had led to sakura, feelings be damned, to come a hair-width away from throwing him and his cherry and heirloom tomato sproutlings out, so they found a compromise.

he adjusts his eyes to stare up ahead, where their house lies in the horizon. if he stares long enough, his vision focuses on the towering white structure behind it. sasuke, possessor of the eternal mangekyou sharingan and bestowed to carry the weight of the rinnegan, if left to his own devices, has been known to have focused his energy upon that disconnected greenhouse on the outskirts of their land. admittedly, he might have been committing more time to getting the greenhouse ready, but that is only because winter is drawing near and his wife has forbidden him from growing his produce within the confines of their living space. 

this, he can admit, is somewhat unfair because while he cultivated his produce, she developed a love for indoor plants, which have somehow gotten a hold of almost every single surface in their home. well, he acquiesces, at least it is one more thing they can chat about. 

though his eyes hold great power, she is the possessor of the ability to read his actions, even when he is not in her immediate line of sight, so he is careful to hide the roll of his eyes. “your plants are too peculiar. ‘tap water makes me unhappy. why did you change the temperature? my leaves are going to brown and shrivel up because you’re so cruel to me’,” he responds in a mocking voice. “mine would be happy rooting on concrete if they had to.” 

she snorts. he doesn’t have a clear view, but he can tell her eyes are sparkling. “that’s because mine have class, sasuke-kun, something you obviously know nothing about.” he thinks that’s rich, coming from her, and he says so, which earns a painful pinch to his side. she hears him mutter a quick, “annoying woman,” at which he hears a croak of laughter. 

they greet the comfortable silence and bask in it for a short while as they continue on the worn path home.

this allows his twice-worn eyes to follow the trail a particular leaf takes as the gentle breeze carries it onward. it begins its descent, bending and curling in its path, and he ponders over the thought that it will proceed on its predestined path to rest on the worn earth below until a sudden gust causes it to surge skyward. for a split second, he can almost swear that the cicadas halt their hummings to make way for the sound of the leaves resting on the ground to cry out for their missing brethren.

he is pulled from his musing when his sandaled feet crush a feeble twig. his body slows to a stop and his eyes shift upwards. he doesn’t know what he’s looking for or if he’s looking for anything in particular, but he remembers. 

he remembers that the weight of his past sins can find ways of creeping up on him. he remembers sometimes that the law is often unfair; an uncomfortable sensation suddenly perches heavily in his chest when he remembers run-ins with civilians and nin alike who have lost so much—sometimes due to his past sins, sometimes due to the inevitability of the war—and he looks down at himself, a former criminal allowed to roam the world and speak freely with his wife about mundane topics. he remembers that although he stumbled upon gardening as a means of release, the tightening in his chest when everything comes bubbling up is as uncontrollable as the sea. it bursts as guilt that eats away at him, one side feeling every bit of undeserving of the happiness he’s finally allowed into his life, the other feeling indescribably ashamed that he has allowed happiness to take up so much room that the memory of the past that have been pushed to the borders of his mind. 

wanderlust, he thinks, isn’t embedded in his bones for reasons of being incapable of rooting himself to one spot, rather it’s been embedded in his bones by the persistent reminders of the voices inside of his head to remember. 

beside him, sakura seems to sense his contemplation. he stares down and watches her feet carry her until she is stopped right in front of him. he lifts his gaze so that their eyes meet once again, and the soft, understanding smile she presents rings throughout his entire being. she brings her hand up to brush the overgrown hairs that cover his left eye before she slides her fingers down to rest on his chest. he reaches out to grip her white coat; the hammering of his heart against the confines of his lungs slows to a lull. “shall i prepare your travel cloak?” she asks. 

the amalgamation of pinks and reds and blues of the sky amplify the resounding warmth of her eyes—green as the first buds of spring—and, he thinks, it is a shame that she is blissfully unaware that she is the cure for the human condition.

he shuts his eyes and draws her close until their foreheads are joined. he breathes her scent and it’s times like this that he wishes the sharingan was capable of memorizing the sweetness that is her, before he presses his lips where it was once connected to his forehead. against her skin, he whispers, “come with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> written for sasusaku month 2020, day 27: symptoms


End file.
